


Skulking in Soho

by amdg2846



Series: Land of the Living: Missing Scenes, Oneshots, and Alternate POVs [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Beelzebub has no boundaries, Definitely not asking your old enemies for relationship advice, Established Relationship, Every demon does everything four minutes later than Gabriel wants them to, Female Beelzebub (Good Omens), Gabriel Being a Dick, Gabriel doesn't lurk he waits for meetings, Gabrielzebub, Happy Endings for Everyone Eventually, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Multi, Mutual Pining, Mutually Unrequited, Poor Crowley and Aziraphale just want to go home and bang in peace, Post-Canon, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), References to Sex, because I love them that's why, or at least on their way to falling in love, theater date, when your crush won't ask you out so you intimidate their old employees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-26 00:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amdg2846/pseuds/amdg2846
Summary: An Archangel and a Prince of Hell have some questions for their former employees."I do not cry, beloved, neither curse. / Silence and strength, these two at least are good." —G.K. Chesterton,The Unpardonable Sin





	1. Lurking at the Lyric

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place several months after the events of [Land of the Living](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19351342/chapters/46038757), and parts of it will not make sense without that context.
> 
> Beta by [shenhai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shenhai/works), whose works, [Touch of Witchcraft](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389493) and [Hastur and the Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19934149/chapters/47201269), are cohesive with Land of the Living.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"He sealed her heart from sage and questioner— / Yea, with seven seals, as he has sealed the grave." —GKC_, The Unpardonable Sin

Just after ten on a chilly Saturday evening, the Prince of Hell watched as the last of the crowds flowed out of the Lyric Theatre. Among the final stragglers she spied the Warden and the Advocate, talking animatedly, arm in arm and tight against the cold. Her face twisted into a grimace, and she followed them, out of sight, to a low-lit Victorian pub down a side street. Once reasonably assured that she would not be spotted, she slipped inside and slunk into a shadowed corner to watch them.

They sat close together at a small table—closer than warranted by the weather, for the pub was warm. Under the table, knees touched and fingers laced idly together. Beelzebub’s own fingers flexed, and she crossed her arms over her ribs. She peered instead at their faces. Her former operative was listening, silent, eyes fixed on his companion’s mouth. She sneered at his rapt attention as he leaned across the table, at the easy smile on his lips, the peace in his eyes—changed eyes that represented Hell’s greatest strategic failure since the Harrowing. A vein in her temple pulsed, and a low buzzing growled in the back of her throat.

But it was not the Advocate she had come for. She turned her attention to his lover. He didn’t look like much—pale and cheerful, soft eyes, modestly dressed. He would be insipid if it weren’t for a solidity of frame and sureness of movement that betrayed some interior strength. But she had seen stronger. Gabriel was stronger. How had _ this _ one broken the chains of Hell? She knew he was not the first to try.

It must be connected to what had happened during the trials. An angel immune to hellfire—who knew what else he could do? The two of them had sabotaged Armageddon, but Crowley had always been an exemplary agent before. Somehow this smiling fop had turned him traitor. _How?_

Had he seduced him? Hard to imagine. But they’d already boffed by the time of the trial, that much was clear. Crowley might as well have been wearing the angel’s skin, for all he stank of him. How had Gabriel not caught it at the hearing in Heaven? Perhaps angels were not so deeply affected by the touch of a demon as...the other way around. A muscle tightened in Beelzebub’s jaw. 

Neither Hell nor Heaven, as far as she knew, had discovered the means by which the traitors had survived. Not that anyone was really looking—there was nothing to be done about it _ now. _ And they hadn’t had time for it _ then. _ In the aftermath of the botched Apocalypse, both sides had suddenly found themselves without any scheduled assignments for the hosts of angels and demons. Everyone had expected the world to end, and the workload with it. In the scramble to resume infernal activity as usual, Crowley’s banishment had been a mere diversion to buy time and prevent a riot. His chains had been broken before Hell had had the chance to follow up.

But the Warden’s change of status had been different. An immediate contract backdated thousands of years, an assignment direct from the Almighty—Heaven never even _ tried _ to investigate. Just chucked him out, no questions. Typical. If Gabriel were to be believed—well, but that was the problem. Beelzebub still was not sure whether Gabriel could be believed. They had met more and more frequently in the months since Armageddon failed. She knew that he was shifty, surprisingly shrewd (for a git), and certainly capable of deceit, but...she had never caught him actively deceiving _ her. _ Working directly under the Father of Lies gave one an ear for that sort of thing.

Beelzebub squinted and scowled, wondering. Crowley was talking now, and the Warden was smiling secretively into a glass of amber liquor. What was so special about _ this _ angel? There had been several attempts, during the Great Rebellion, to break the bonds of certain of the Fallen. Angels and demons both (some much higher ranking than a mere Principality) had tried to overturn the unforeseen captivity of those who had come under Lucifer’s thrall. Every attempt had failed. But now, some mid-level field agent had done what battle-hardened Dominions could not—_how?_—and, almost as pressing a question to Beelzebub at the moment, _why? _ For one strategically expendable demon of no rank or significance?

She knew that Crowley had offered no advantage to the Heavenly agenda. Gabriel had been as blindsided as she by the misdirection with the Antichrist, and the angel Aziraphale had been tried as a traitor just as Crowley had. He hadn’t brokered a deal for his freedom, then. It was something between the two of them. The angel (with no accounting for taste) had taken Crowley as his lover. But nothing about a carnal relationship necessitated breaking the chains. They could have had at it till the next great war—they would have tired of each other long before then. What did the angel want with him? What would _ any _ angel want with a demon, anyway?

Nothing could be done about it. It was pointless to wonder and dangerous to pursue it, now that both of them were under the Almighty’s seal. But Beelzebub could not put away the questions. Why now? Why at all? How had it happened? The memory of an unnerving meeting plagued her, though it was months ago. _ Maybe one day it’ll be someone else’s turn_, Gabriel had said. His words had made her feel as though something was wrong inside her. There had been a kind of pull, a whisper of promise. She had almost leaned in his direction. Later, her fingers had burned where they had touched his wrist, just as the shoulder of her jacket had come back singed where Gabriel had tapped her at the airfield. It was a mild burn, but it didn’t go away unless she went groundside. And worse, the sting of it had become a pleasure, and was wanted. Was that what the Warden had done to Crowley? Was it something all angels could do?

She had never heard of such a tactic or such an ability. She had to know what was behind it. She would not be compromised by any angel. Her throat was buzzing again, and she angrily summoned a glass of tonic water. The Warden was smiling openly now, and his face reddened when Crowley bit the side of his neck and whispered in his ear. They had finished their drinks. Listening in on them carefully, she heard Crowley offer to bring the car around and the angel offer to pay the tab. Beelzebub tensed in her seat. She might have a chance to corner him. She sipped her tonic water and waited, eagerly, as Crowley got up from the table, put on a coat, and left the pub. The angel watched him until he was out of sight, then got up himself and went to the bar. As deftly as she could, Beelzebub darted after him. 

—

It was invigorating to return to London for an occasional evening out, and Aziraphale had enjoyed the play immensely—not least because Crowley had traced suggestive messages with one finger on Aziraphale’s palm during most of the final act. But there was always something a little poignant about revisiting the city after all that they had suffered there, and they clung together as much for reassurance as for warmth when they stepped out into the night and the biting chill.

They stopped for drinks in a well-worn little pub, and sat in a corner disagreeing cheerfully about the merits of the play’s direction and staging. Crowley’s voice gradually grew lower and darker, and Aziraphale began to be impatient to leave. He nearly laughed out loud in his enthusiasm when Crowley suggested that they betake themselves someplace private. He stayed behind to pay for their drinks, and Crowley went to retrieve the car. 

Slipping past the bar, toward the back of the pub, Aziraphale scanned the room briefly for signs of anyone who could use a small dispensation. His spirits were high, and he had a mood to bestow a quick miracle or two and spread some happiness about. But the corner of his eye caught a flickering shadow, and before he knew it both of his hands were gripped behind his back, and a threatening voice was buzzing in his ear.

“Keep still, Warden, we need to talk.”

Aziraphale froze. He recognized Lord Beelzebub’s voice, but heard in it no immediate threat. After a moment of panic he decided not to resist. Crowley was long out of sight, and he doubted whether either of them could best the Prince of Hell in a fight at any rate. A crowded pub was no place to risk collateral damage. Besides, if she had intended violence, she surely would not have come alone.

“Of course,” he said, struggling to keep his voice controlled. “Shall we...er...find somewhere to sit?”

The demon did not answer, but Aziraphale found himself being shuffled unceremoniously up the back stairs to a nearly empty dining room, and deposited at a small table for two. Beelzebub took the seat across from him, blocking the exit.

“I need to know,” she growled at him, “what you did to Crowley.”

“Please,” said Aziraphale, the panic rising again, “you’re not going to hurt him, are you?”

Beelzebub looked confused for a moment, then smiled slightly. “He will not be harmed,” she said slowly, “as long as you answer my questions.”

“Very well,” he agreed a little more calmly. “What would you like to know?” His sharpest fears were quieted more by her demeanor than by her assurance. The Prince of Hell was discomposed, in a way that made her seem less formidable than usual. She was clearly angry, and the air around her crackled with restless aggression, but her eyes held something of a hunted look. Aziraphale waited as she squinted and glared, apparently deciding what to say.

“What did you do to Crowley to make him turn traitor?” she asked at last.

Aziraphale blinked, surprised and almost amused. “I beg your pardon,” he said politely. “But I didn’t do anything of the sort.”

“There’s no need to lie to me, Warden,” she said, her voice low and resonant. “You owe no further loyalty to Heaven.”

“And none to Hell, I might add,” Aziraphale pointed out. “But I assure you, I speak true. I did not convince Crowley to work against Armageddon. On the contrary, he convinced me.”

Beelzebub stared hard at him. “A half truth,” she declared after a moment. Aziraphale blinked again, in confusion this time, as she continued. “You seduced him away with angelic wiles.”

“I did _ not_,” said Aziraphale, blushing. “At least, not intentionally. I shan’t pretend that our friendship had no effect on him, but I believe you’ll find that Crowley’s heart was always closer to the Earth than to the Nine Circles, deep down.”

“You were under orders from Heaven to befriend him?”

“Again, quite the contrary. I was nearly executed for it, you’ll remember.”

Another scowling pause. Aziraphale thought she might accuse him of falsehood once more, since the charges against him had ostensibly been not their friendship as such, but that they had plotted to interfere with the Antichrist. Beelzebub, however, did not dispute him.

“Why did you do it?” she asked simply.

“Well, neither of us wanted the world to end, you see, and—”

“No,” she interrupted. “Why did you befriend him?”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, not quite sure how to answer. He thought in this case that the simplest honesty might be the best course. “He was kind to me.”

Beelzebub’s look of outraged disgust made him somewhat regret his decision. “And what did you do to persuade him to take up with you?”

Aziraphale was confused. “But I _ didn’t _ persuade him,” he said, his voice becoming strained. “You seem to have it reversed, my dear fellow. Since the beginning, Crowley has always...sought me out.” 

“Because you wiled him!” she accused, leaning across the table with both hands. “Am I to believe that a field operative with a six-thousand-year record of acceptable service, knowing the consequences, mutinied on his own with no interference and lured a Principality into bed?”

“Well no,” said Aziraphale thoughtfully, “it was actually—” he stopped, remembering himself, and blushed crimson. “Now see here, I don’t think that it’s any of _ your _ business who lured whom anywhere!”

“So you admit it!” cried Beelzebub triumphantly. “How did you do it?”

“Why do you wish to know?” Aziraphale asked, suddenly curious. His question brought the demon up short.

“Well, it—isn’t fair play, is it? I have a right to warn my operatives if angels are going to start _ luring _ them away left and right. That’s not how it’s done!”

“Ah, I see.” Aziraphale was beginning to find this whole business more puzzling than frightening, and a little more insulting than either. “Then allow me to set your mind at ease. There are no angelic wiles particular to this sort of thing, and none were deployed between Crowley and me. Nor did I ever get wind of anything like a Heavenly plot to—er, compromise demons. You may consider our case unique.”

“But it’s _ not_, it’s—” she paused, and Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. Behind her aggressive hostility, the Prince of Hell had begun to look (dare he say it?) a little lost. His fear of her had entirely disappeared by now. Indeed, he was nearly moved to pity when she asked, almost plaintively, “What do you _ want _ with him?”

“Why,” said Aziraphale sincerely, “I love him.” It was the perfectly honest truth.

“He’s a demon.” She looked at him, uncomprehending.

“Not anymore.”

“But he was when you had him first.”

“_Yes_.” Aziraphale was a little put out by the continued frankness of the conversation. They were practically strangers, after all. But something in the demon’s uncertain eyes gave the lie to her snarling cheek, and his instincts told him it might be a conversation worth having. He softened his tone. “And I loved him then, as well.”

“And what would an angel love in a demon?” She scrutinized his face narrowly as she asked.

A suspicion began to tug at Aziraphale’s mind. He would have considered it ludicrous not four months ago. But now? He would not ask, of course. Unlike some, he still had manners. Instead he said, perhaps a little too gently, “I will remind you, Lord Beelzebub, that Crowley is a _ person _ first and foremost, made by the hand of Personality Herself—as are we all. And there never was a great deal of difference between us. He was as much an angel as I at first. As were you.”

He feared, then, that he might have pushed the demon too far. A prominent vein was twitching in her forehead, and both her scowl and the ominous buzzing in her throat were deep. She pushed herself up violently from the table, and Aziraphale flinched. But she did not attack. She only clenched her jaw and turned her head sharply away.

“Bloody _ useless _ angels!” she said more to herself than anything. And she marched out of the dining room and down the stairs without looking back.

Aziraphale leapt to his feet and pursued her, fearful that she might go after Crowley. But when he reached the bottom of the stairs, she had gone. He fled from the pub, quite forgetting to pay for the drinks, and looked frantically up and down the street. He saw no sign of Beelzebub anywhere, and a moment later the Bentley pulled around the corner. Aziraphale exhaled in profound relief. Crowley was alone. He pulled up and stopped, one window rolled down, and Aziraphale nearly ran to get into the car.

“Sorry I’m late,” called Crowley from the open window. “You’re not gonna believe who I ran into just now.”


	2. Confrontation in a Car Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“He gave me sun and stars and aught He could, / But not a woman's love; for that is hers.” —GKC,_ The Unpardonable Sin

At 10:45 on Saturday night, Gabriel stood in the shadows across the street from the Lyric Pub in Soho. He was waiting patiently for a meeting. It was an unscheduled meeting (his least favorite kind), and it had been unsuccessfully attempted twice in the recent past. He only wanted to talk to one of them, but they never seemed to leave each other _ alone_.

Four minutes later the Advocate stepped out of the pub and set off down the street, bundled in a long coat. Gabriel waited, expecting his companion to join him directly, as usual. He did not appear. It looked like there would finally be an opportunity to meet. Gabriel was pleased, and followed the Advocate with a spring in his step, which in no way affected the silence of his movements.

He followed at a distance. It was best to wait to approach until the Advocate was off the street. The meeting was unscheduled, after all, and there was no sense in causing a scene. This was all for the sake of a few simple questions. Gabriel reviewed his questions one by one as he kept an eye on the dark figure ahead. Scheduled or not, he never came to a meeting unprepared.

Question One: How did you survive the holy water? This was of utmost strategic importance. The majority of the hosts still wanted a war. Hell couldn’t punish the Advocate now, but if they had found a way to make demons immune—well _ that _ didn’t bear thinking about. Beelzebub insisted that she didn’t know how Crowley had done it. She was probably telling the truth. Gabriel had never figured out how his own former employee had survived the fire, after all. (Though truth be told, there hadn’t been time to investigate before the paperwork had come from Upstairs.) And what were the odds that Hell knew anything Heaven didn’t? Still, if there _ were _ a war on the horizon, it’d be criminally negligent not to chase this down.

Question Two: How did you tempt Aziraphale away? Gabriel already had a pretty good idea about the answer to this question. Everyone knew the kinds of wiles a demon could spin. But he needed specifics. He had always made a point to...keep Aziraphale pretty well in hand. He’d been a good employee, eager to please, but had gone a bit strange over the millennia. Gabriel supposed that a lifetime of fieldwork would do that to an angel, but he had tried to do what he could to keep Aziraphale thinking on the right track. Well, every failure was a chance to learn! Every failure that didn’t land you in the Pit, at any rate. He would find out precisely how his employee had been compromised, and it wouldn’t happen again. It comforted Gabriel to know that at least Aziraphale hadn’t been a double agent—whatever the Principality had done, it didn’t ultimately benefit Hell. It benefitted Crowley, but Gabriel wasn’t ready to ask about that yet. The breaking of the chains wasn’t proved to be related to the failure of Armageddon, and until it was, the how and why would have to wait. What _ was _certain was that Crowley had tempted an angel away from his duties, but then hadn’t turned him to the cause of Hell. He hadn’t recruited an agent—he had made a friend. Or...whatever.

And _ that _ brought Gabriel to Question Three: What did he do to get you to like him? Obviously _ something _ about Aziraphale had made a demon want to betray Hell and hang around him all the time. Angels had no wiles for that kind of thing, so Aziraphale must have been using _ tactics. _ Heaven could stand to gain from tactics like that. And finding out what the tempters found tempting? Now _ that _ would be valuable information.

And if Gabriel were to admit, in all fairness, that the answer to Question Three might also be valuable to him on a personal level—well, there was no harm in that, was there? He was going to have to keep meeting with Lord Beelzebub pretty regularly for the foreseeable future, business being what it was. Truth be told, those meetings were some of his most pleasant, these days. It was nice to talk to someone who understood the burdens of leadership, especially in uncertain times. And he had come to enjoy the occasional martini.

The only thing was, Beelzebub was never happy to see him. They got on well enough, he supposed, but she always seemed to be angry, and on the verge of marching off in a huff. He couldn’t help wishing that she could find it in her to be a little friendly. After all, there weren’t many others who could sympathize with what they were going through. If they had to meet, why shouldn’t they try to enjoy it? Why shouldn’t he use a tactic or two to get the conversation flowing?

And maybe, he thought, if Crowley would tell him what angels could do to make demons enjoy their company, his meetings with the Prince of Hell could lead to real collaboration—just the two of them, getting things running back on track. They might become his favorite meetings of all, if he and Beelzebub really started to work toward achievable goals. Not the next great war—not yet. Gabriel had thought about it, and he had decided that the time was definitely not right to try to start another war. No sense in aggravating tensions without the say-so of the Divine Plan. Better to watch and wait, over a bi-weekly (weekly?) martini. But goals like administrative restructuring and effective management of human allies—_that _ kind of work, in a spirit of friendly cooperation, could make his meetings with Beelzebub really soar.

Finally (they had been walking for over three minutes), Gabriel saw Crowley descend into a parking garage. He followed, looking forward to the conversation and what were sure to be its good results. Beelzebub had touched his wrist once. She had accused him of rudeness in the same breath, but at the time, it had seemed like something friends would do. He had looked forward to it happening again (though not enough to consider proposing another toast without drinking), and was disappointed when it didn’t. He liked to say that he considered his work colleagues as friends, so he didn’t see any harm in extending the same courtesy to his work opponents. But she didn’t seem to feel the same.

Aziraphale had called Crowley his friend before, so it was definitely possible for demons and angels to be friends. Crowley probably touched his wrist all the time. Of course, the two of them apparently did a lot of things that Gabriel wouldn’t have done with _ his _ friends. Maybe that was just how demons expressed friendship? If the conversation went well, he could add that as Question Four.

—

The cold air made him feel tense and tired, but Crowley was smiling in spite of it. Aziraphale had significantly relaxed his standards of public decorum for the evening, and Crowley had taken full advantage. He had even stolen a kiss or two in the pub. A warm room was waiting for them to pursue some of the ideas that he had traced on Aziraphale’s hand during the play. There was wine there, and firelight, laughter, music if they wanted it. What could a cold night do against that? _ The darkness comprehendeth it not. _ Still, he felt a shiver on the back of his neck, almost like being watched, and he turned his collar up against the chill. London still set him a bit on edge, at times.

He breathed easier down in the car park, out of the wind. Parking legally had been his concession to Aziraphale, but as usual he did not regret making it. He got in the car with a sigh of relief, and turned on the engine, looking forward to the heat.

Without warning, the passenger door opened, and Crowley found himself nose to nose with the imposing figure of the Archangel Gabriel. Panicking, he scrambled for the door handle, but found it supernaturally locked. Before he could think of what else to do, Gabriel spoke, in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring.

“Good evening, Crowley!” he said, as if he were pleasantly surprised to see him. “It’s been a long time! How’s Advocacy treating you? Congratulations on the promotion, by the way.” Crowley simply stared, open-mouthed, as Gabriel grinned expectantly, apparently awaiting a reply. When none was offered, he continued, “Do you have a couple minutes to talk? I’ve got a few questions for you.”

Finally, Crowley’s senses caught up with his terror, and he narrowed his eyes and snarled. “Where’s Aziraphale?” he demanded sharply. “If you’ve done anything to him, you bastard, so help me all the Powers of Hell and Heaven—”

“Relax,” said Gabriel, his bearing lofty. “Nothing’s happening to Aziraphale, he’s fine. I’m here to talk to _ you._”

Crowley looked at him suspiciously. He was not much reassured. But he couldn’t take Gabriel in a fight, he knew, and the faster this was done the faster he could get back to Aziraphale. Why, _ why _ had he left him alone?

“Alright,” he growled from between the clenching of his teeth. “What is it you want?”

“Excellent,” said Gabriel, nodding. “I have some questions. First, how did the two of you survive your trials? I heard all about the holy water. What’s your secret?”

A sinking cold settled in Crowley’s chest. Surely they couldn’t do anything about the trials _ now. _ He thought fast, desperately searching for an answer that would shut the conversation down as quickly as possible. “Natural immunity,” he blurted out, looking up defiantly.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Natural immunity…” he repeated skeptically. “From time spent on Earth? Or from..._contact _ with the opposition?”

Crowley thought about it. He certainly didn’t want legions of angels hanging around on Earth trying to build up an immunity to hellfire. But Gabriel’s tone made it clear what sort of contact he meant. This was going to end very badly. “The second one,” he declared, willing himself not to blush. 

“Hmm.” Gabriel stared at him, probably trying to detect a lie. But in a way, Crowley supposed, it was technically the truth. “Okay,” Gabriel continued, “next question: how did you persuade Aziraphale to commit treason?”

“You can’t punish him for that now!” Crowley almost shouted, his temper rising again. “You had your chance. He’s under the protection of—”

“Will you calm down?” Gabriel seemed exasperated. “This isn’t about punishment, it’s about information. I want to know what you said to him.”

“That’s none of your business,” said Crowley stubbornly. 

“I have assets to protect,” Gabriel said, as though explaining something very simple to a child. “I didn’t think you’d be keen to protect Hell’s interests in this, after everything. My employees need to be able to defend themselves against demonic wiles.”

“Well have you tried forbidding questions and executing anyone who doesn’t toe the line?”

Gabriel simply looked at him.

“Fine,” said Crowley. “I seduced him.” Might as well go all in with it, he thought.

But Gabriel shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, thoughtful. “That one’s a lie. Aziraphale’s a better liar than you.”

Crowley gaped at him. How could he know that? This conversation needed to end. “Look,” he said, trying to keep his composure. “I wore him down, convinced him to be friends. But in the end, he liked the world too much to see it burn for your little squabble. He didn’t need that much persuading.”

“Hmm,” Gabriel said again. “Well, Aziraphale always was an odd duck. So _ he _ seduced _ you_, huh? How did he manage that?”

“Again, that is _ none of your business._” Crowley could not believe this was under discussion.

“Well I think you’re going to answer me, since neither of us will leave until you do.” Gabriel’s smile was cold as ice; Crowley felt it down to his spine. “What made you want to befriend him in the first place? I’m gonna need you to be specific. And not to lie.”

Crowley wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to spit hellfire in Gabriel’s face again. But the Archangel was too powerful. The only way out was through. 

“He was...kind,” he ground out finally, daggers in his eyes. Gabriel did not seem satisfied.

“That’s not something you’d expect a demon to like.”

“Well maybe it was a welcome change of pace.”

“But any angel could be kind. Why him?”

“_He _ was kind when it didn’t serve him.” Crowley couldn’t resist the chance to snipe, but Gabriel seemed unfazed.

“So he aided Hell?”

“_No. _ He aided _ people_.”

“And what did he do for you?”

Crowley blushed, despite his best efforts. “It was just...alright to have someone to talk to.”

“Well of _ course _ it was!” said Gabriel, who had apparently reached the end of his patience all of a sudden. “That’s exactly it, talking to someone who understands. But there has to be something more than that, that makes a _ demon _ want to be friends with an angel! To get past all the hostility...” He waved his hands as he spoke, looking thoroughly confounded.

Crowley wasn’t sure about the details, but he began to suspect that there was more to Gabriel’s interrogation than an interest in the Heavenly agenda. This he could play with. “Why do you want to know?” he asked slyly. “Trying to befriend a demon, are we?”

“Reconaissance.” Gabriel clamped shut as suddenly as he had burst out. “Useful skill, gaining the trust of the opposition.” 

Crowley smiled, his suspicion as good as confirmed. Here was an opportunity to tell the truth and twist the knife in one. “Well then,” he said, and tried to make his voice conspiratorial, “I’ll tell you the reason, if you really want to know.”

“Yes,” said Gabriel, unable to conceal his curiosity. “What was it?”

“If I tell you,” Crowley pushed, “this conversation ends, and you get out and piss off.”

“Yes, yes, fine, no need to be rude.” Gabriel brushed off Crowley’s look of pointed indignation. “What made you like him enough to hang around?”

“I liked him,” answered Crowley, relishing the effect his words were about to have, “because he did things an angel shouldn’t do.”

Gabriel looked horrified. “You...you mean—”

“Oh yes,” Crowley almost hissed. “Eating, drinking, discussing, _ questioning. _ Enjoying things, _ wanting _ things. _ Consorting _ with supposed enemies. Every time he found a loophole out of following orders, I liked him a little bit more.” He tried to make his words sound more salacious than they actually were, without departing from the general truth.

His efforts had their intended effect. Gabriel actually looked a little frightened, drawing away like a man pursued. “So you liked him for becoming a...worse angel?” he stammered.

“I would’ve said a better one,” said Crowley, sneering at him. “But you lot never understood his quality. I’ve answered your questions, now get the hell out of my car.”

Gabriel hesitated, as though in the grip of some interior struggle. But Crowley narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, and the Archangel seemed to make a decision.

“Right,” he said. “Well, I’m an angel of my word, after all.” His smile was cold again, and full of contempt. “I’m sure we’ll meet again, Advocate. Have a pleasant evening.” Gabriel stepped out of the car, and was gone. 

Crowley tore out of the car park and back toward the pub, praying unashamedly that Aziraphale was safe. As he rounded the final corner, he saw the angel looking for him, and drank in the relief of seeing him unharmed. He rolled down the window as he pulled up, and called, “Sorry I’m late! You’re not gonna believe who I ran into just now.”

Aziraphale climbed into the passenger’s seat, and looked at Crowley with tired eyes. “If you tell me it was the Archangel Gabriel,” he said, “I shall make you buy me a very expensive drink.” Suddenly his eyes went wide. “Oh, the drinks!” he cried, and he leapt out of the car and ran back into the pub, leaving Crowley staring after him in shock.

**Author's Note:**

> Well I couldn't stay away! As always, thanks for reading! I will read and try to answer all comments. 
> 
> This work is the result of several requests I had for more Ineffable Bureaucracy, so I've made an ongoing series for any and all works related to Land of the Living.
> 
> So: 
> 
> **If you have requests for missing scenes, extra scenes, or scenes you want to see remixed from another character's point of view, send me a comment!** I can't promise to fulfill every request, obviously, but I'll be very happy to try!
> 
> With love to all of my readers!  
—amdg2846
> 
> P.S. I am recklessly linking my tumblr, come party, and pray for me that I do not regret this: [agnesandcecilia](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/agnesandcecilia)


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